


Hell Isn’t a Myth, I Spend My Summers There

by Stillspace



Category: Invader Zim, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Blame all typos on grammarly, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Depictions of self-harm, Dib is gay, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Future Character Death, Future JTHM characters will be introduced, Future depictions of alcoholism, Gaz has anger issues, Gaz is hella gay, Gaz swears a lot, Horror, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Invader Zim: Enter the Florpus, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Tags will be updated, Underage Drug Use, Uug what else, Yea I'm making dib an alcoholic deal with it, ZADF, ZaDr, Zim doesn't know of this gender you speak of, Zim is asexual, Zim uses he/they pronouns, at least not yet, how do I rate this, in the future I promise, no smut don't worry, you get what you signed up for in these fandoms what can I say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23591320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stillspace/pseuds/Stillspace
Summary: With three-fourths of the Irken Empire’s military forever trapped in the Florpus Hole, planetary slave revolts and internal power struggles run amok. Rival factions are using this opportunity to take their place as the next intergalactic power, and many think the answer lies in locating the elusive “Urth,” the planet that appeared to cause the destructive phenomena that obliterated Irk’s entire armada before translocating into obscurity once again.As a result, a number of factions are invested in locating Earth, some to form treaties with its inhabitants, some to steal its technologies, some to simply do a recon of the undocumented planet to see what the HECK is going on there.Needless to say, the intergalactic community was impressed.Not that anyone on Earth knew, nor cared. It's inhabitants were too busy destroying themselves.
Relationships: Dib & Gaz (Invader Zim), Dib & Zim (Invader Zim), Dib/Zim (Invader Zim), Gaz/OC, Gaz/Original Female Character
Kudos: 10





	Hell Isn’t a Myth, I Spend My Summers There

**Author's Note:**

> Wow look I finally wrote something, on my own volition no less, I guess I’ll post it here and see what happens. 
> 
> This story will have multiple points of view, hopefully it follows some sort of plot, I’ll figure it out. 
> 
> No real warnings besides descriptions of self harm, along with the obligatory blood in violence in this first chapter, don’t worry it’ll get spicier later. 
> 
> The summary gives no indication of the plot, that was intentional haha >:)

Ch. 1

They took the electric collars off of us today for our field trip to the City Cemetery. I guess the Administration deemed it important for the 11th and 12th-grade student body to learn about the “founders” of our city before we graduate and live our meaningless, miserable lives. 

Dad doesn’t know about it. Dib and I forged his signature on our permission forms to go. Not because he wouldn’t agree to sign, but finding him to ask would have taken too much trouble - apparently being in high school means that he doesn’t need to take care of us anymore, or even be home for that matter. These days he tends to spend all his time at the lab, with nothing more than the weekly phone call to make sure me and Dib are both still alive. 

Shit, I’m starting to sound like Dib. It’s not that I’m bitter or anything, it’s just how it is. 

Me and Dib are trailing at the back of the student tour group, I’m looking down at my handheld console, replaying Left 2 Rot on near reflex as I semi-consciously follow Dib. I’m wearing my gaming headphones, effectively muting our tour guides monotone drone with gunshots, screams and zombie howls. 

Dib doesn’t care about the history of dead colonizers either, he’s just taking this opportunity to test out his ghost hunting gear, he said. In one hand is his paranormal case, in another some self-constructed ghost radar-satellite thing, which he waves around each gravestone we pass. He’s wearing thick, bug-eyed goggles, he said they’re for scanning “residual heat signatures” or some shit.

God, and he wonders why he doesn’t have friends.

At least he isn’t obsessing over Zim again, though I suspect it’s because he’s not here today, either because he forgot to get his slip signed by his “parents” or he doesn’t care. Dib doesn’t seem concerned, since he’s doing his ghost hunting thing. 

It’s interesting though, Zim’s absence usually makes Dib even more suspicious of what he’s up to. Maybe he’s starting to get over their little rivalry.

Not that I care or anything. 

I don’t really have a sense of where I’m going, but something compels me to look up from my game and take in my surroundings. I’ve fallen a few steps back from Dib. Our class tour group is ahead of both of us, huddled around some decrepit mausoleum, pretending to pay attention to the poor sap who’s paid to sound like they care about whose bones are in there. Outside of the cobblestoned trail lies sunken graves haphazardly scattered across the field, whatever inscriptions they had have long aged to illegibility. Despite the dry heat and blaring afternoon sun, the grass blanketing the graveyard is damp and freshly trimmed.

Of all places to worry about landscaping, it’s not like the dead will appreciate it. 

While I’m scanning, I spot a fallen bike on the outskirts of the graveyard.

It’s child-sized, red and shiny like new. Lying just outside of the forest that borders the cemetery. It must have been left here recently, otherwise, it would have been stolen or taken apart by now. 

My game character is getting attacked, I idled for too long. I look back at my game and keep walking. Why am I worrying anyway? it’s probably owned by some stupid spoiled kid who wandered off for a second - 

I see a dark figure in the trees out the corner of my eye. I let my character die and look.

I can’t tell their gender or appearance, but they’re crouched on the ground doing something indiscernible. I take off my headphones. Something compels me - Curiosity? My flimsy sense of morality? - to investigate.

No one pays attention as I leave and turn back the way we came. The figure isn’t far, just a dozen or so gravestones away off the path. I follow them like checkpoint marks, giving no attention to the land I’m desecrating. Eventually, green grass gives way to dirt patches and weeds, the figure is just behind the trees. 

They haven’t stopped what they’re doing yet. As I get closer I see that they’re wearing long, dark clothing. It’s hot out, the hottest it’s been all week, even Dib left his precious trench coat at home. They look intent on something, I decide I don’t like it.

“Hey!” I keep my voice sharp. I probably didn’t have to be that loud, but I wanted to startle them. 

It worked. Their head pops up with a jolt, I hear a quick gasp leave their mouth. They’re head snaps back towards me, their body still crouched to the ground. Speckles of sunlight through the trees catch their face. They have dark skin, full lips, and soft, feminine features, topped with black, cropped coily hair. I’m guessing they’re a girl.

How long have I been staring? 

The girl seems to finally catch her bearings, she still looks like she was caught doing something wrong, deer-wide eyes and all, so I keep with my tone.

“What are you doing? Are you part of the group?” I motion back from where I came.

She looks about our age, but I can’t assume. The cosmetics on the market these days are pretty intense, filled with “youth-enhancing” ingredients and what-not. she could be a whole adult for all I know. I can’t trust what I see.

“I. Um.” She starts. Stops. She’s still staring at me all wide-eyed.“Yea.” She sounds off, not quite here at this moment. I don’t like it.

“What are you doing out here?” I repeat, annoyed, she still hasn’t answered my first question.

She seems to snap out of it this time. She looks down and gives a little nervous laugh - is she embarrassed? I wasn’t expecting that.

“Sorry, but as interesting as learning about dead white people is.” She says, smooth and conversational now “I got… distracted.. by a plant.” 

“A plant,” I repeat. I don’t hide my disbelief.

“Yea!” She goes on, more confident this time. “I have a pretty good idea of the natives that grow around here - well, the ones that still exist at least” She scoots over to show what was in front of her “but I’ve never seen this one before”

I look down to where she’s motioning to. It was, indeed, a plant. A pretty weird one at that. 

“What is that?” I can’t help but ask. 

It looks like a weed, but nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s a tall, stalk-like thing, reaching to around the length of my knees. growing from its base are spindly, burgundy-red leaves. The stalk is thorned, leading up to a bulbous, tumor-like growth on top, when I look closer I see closed creases, as if it’s holding something inside, just waiting for the right time to release it.

“No idea,” she says, something of wonder in her voice, she goes back over to it, strokes one of its reddish leaves “But it looks so… out of this world, you know?”

I grimace at her description. God fucking damn it, Zim doesn’t even have to be here for weird shit to happen anymore, does he? 

“You probably shouldn’t touch that. It might eat you or something.” I warn halfheartedly. The girl looks nice enough, though I reckon the kid with the bike is a goner already. I could go without having more blood on my nonexistent conscience, Zim related or not.

She gives a little laugh, a small quirk to her lips. She thinks I’m joking. “Yea, I should probably leave it be, or come back with gloves or something before I handle it.” 

She’s still messing with it, her hands are lightly traveling up its thorns. “It’d be cool to take a sample of it back though, get a hold of a microscope or plant identification book, maybe it’ll give me a better idea - “

Rows of vibrant red, fang-like teeth reveal itself, the tumor opening like a gaping maw as it clamps on her hand like a bear trap. She’s screaming now, there’s blood dripping down her wrist.

She’s panicking, her breaths are coming out in short, staccato bursts. She’s trying to yank her hand back out to no avail. I don’t move from my spot. I hear the lowest, gurgling rumble emit from under the thing, like a stomach anticipating a meal. 

That’s probably not good. I guess I should help.

I position myself behind her, grab her trapped arm with both hands, and pull. It elicits another scream from the girl, her hand doesn’t budge.

“It’s stuck!” I make out between her wails, “The teeth! the teeth are in too deep!” She seems to realize this as she says it, I can’t see her face but it sounds like she’s sobbing now.

Its spine starts to expand like an esophagus getting ready to swallow, our futile pulling only seems to make it work faster. Her arm is slowly getting eaten. 

I change course, abandon her arm and go for the stem. It’s thorns stab into my hands as I wrestle with it. I feel a deep, rumbling growl emit from under me. 

“Hurry! Hurry! Please!” Her pained, desperate pleas are grating on my ears. She needs to shut up already. 

The stem doesn’t give, so I pull with more ferocity. Drops of my blood are dripping down the stem, it only makes the creature chew on the girl faster. I twist and pull tighter. 

The stem isn’t giving still. Half her arm’s in its mouth, I can see lump of her hand in its throat. She’s still screaming. 

“Shut up!” I snap in frustration, whether it’s from her incessant crying or my inefficient strength.” I pull and twist more, imagining the stem as someone’s neck between my hands. I hear the stem start to tear, but it still won’t give. My strength isn’t enough.

So I dig deeper within myself, into that well of anger and power I rarely touch, and pull more. 

And more

and more

and more

I want this thing dead. NOW.

With a final yell, raw and shrill like a war cry, I rip the stem in two. The plant goes limp immediately and releases its grasp on the girl's arm. She tearfully extracts her arm from the Thing. It comes out chewed and bloody and slimy. 

My hands feel warm, the remaining top of its stem is charred. The ground is still rumbling. 

I don’t wait for the girl to recover, I yank her by the arm, the top stem, limp and dead, still grasped in my other hand. “We need to go!” 

Once she’s on her feet I let go and run. Away from the trees and the rumbling and my mind. I run until we’re back in the graveyard, back within viewing distance of our class, until the warmth seeps from my hands and I can feel my thoughts again. I don’t look back. 

“Hey, wait!” 

“What?!” My anger flares with my outburst. Why is she still bugging me? Why won’t she just leave me alone? 

The girl winces at my venom, but still closes the distance I’ve made between us, she’s cradling her tattered arm. I still don’t know her name. “What should we do about the weird man-eating plants?” 

I squint back at her, both from the sunlight and my incredulity. “What should WE do?” Doing isn’t my thing. That’s more of Dibs thing. “You’re the one that found it, you can figure it out” 

She seems to deflate at my response, her eyes fill with uncertainty at what to do. Is she trying to make me feel bad? 

“Anyway, you should probably get that hand checked out. That thing might have been poisonous or something,” I offer. I don’t want in on any of this. 

She seems to consider her chewed up arm, it looks pretty gross, actually, I’m surprised she’s not freaking out still. “You’re probably right. You were also right before, I should have just listened to you.” 

She’s staring at me now, eyes darting to my face and the limp plant in my hand, she seems to be mulling over something. Why did I hold on to it? I can’t let her get suspicious about what I did. 

Not that anyone has yet, no one ever gets too close to me to even notice it. 

“I want to thank you,” she says, so that’s what was on her mind. “for kind of saving my life and all, that was pretty hot of you.”

Wait, what? My eyes widen, my mind is blue-screening. “What-“

“Cool! That was pretty cool of you!” She rushes her next words as if trying to distance herself from what she just said. “It’s pretty hot out, don’t you think? nearly 100 degrees today, can you believe it,” She fans her face in exaggeration, or maybe embarrassment. 

Whatever, I’ll just roll with it. “Yea. I guess. You’d probably be less hot if you weren’t in those layers.”

She looks down at herself - camo cargo pants and an oversized denim jacket, layered over a t-shirt for a band I never heard of - and looks back at me, a glint in her eye “what can I say? Good looks require sacrifice.” 

She places her one working hand on her hip, gives me a playful wink, it looks more like a squint. She looks stupid.

I can’t help my huff of amusement, a smirk sneaks up on my face. “You’re stupid.” 

She beams at the insult like a clueless puppy. She’s cute, I’ll pretend I didn’t think that. I realize I still don’t know her name, but I don’t want to have to ask for it. 

“My arm actually REALLY hurts right now so I’m gonna call my moms for a ride to the ER,” she starts, still smiling “I don’t think anyone will believe me when I say I was attacked by a plant, so could you… I dunno… warn anyone around here while I’m gone. They’re more apt to believe you since you have proof,” she motions to the decapitated plant still in my hand. 

She pauses, her voice is apologetic now “I could really use your help. It’s just until I can come back, I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

It’s too late for that, I almost say, but she sounds like a genuinely good person. No need to break her naivety, I reason. 

I sigh in resignation, how did she manipulate me into doing this “Sure. Fine, whatever, I’ll help”

She’s beaming again, it dampens my annoyance a bit - how does she do that? “Thank you! I really appreciate it!” 

At that, she pulls out her phone, some ancient dinosaur flip phone, and with a few beeps calls a number “Hey Ma, could I get a ride to the ER?… I got bit on my hand.” A longer pause, there’s a look of annoyance on her face “I know, I know what you said, ‘no more going around petting stray dogs,’ consider this lesson learned…I’m kind of bleeding out here if you could get here soon, that’d be cool.”

Why am I listening to her conversation? I look back at the cemetery. The students are scattered about the premises, some just loitering, some using the opportunity to skip the rest of class, crossing the road to the nearest bus stop, some defacing the gravestones. I wonder what Dib is up to. 

The girl eventually finishes her call with a ‘buh bye’ and snaps her phone shut, giving me her full attention again “My ride should be here in like 30 minutes. Let’s hope I don’t die by then.”

I just stare, I can’t think of anything to say to her, not that I want to, my social reserves are about done for today. She’s facing me in front of the sun, it’s rays gleam against her bronze skin like a halo.

She breaks the silence with a realization. “Oh! I forgot to introduce myself! My name's Twig, what’s your’s?” 

If she wasn’t holding her bloodied arm, I’m sure she would have offered me her hand to shake, thank god she didn’t. 

I keep it curt, it’s not like we’re going to see each other again anyway. “It’s Gaz” 

“Gaz! Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.” Twig tests my name on her tongue. “Short and edgy, I like it, I promise I’ll remember it.” 

She gives a little playful smile. She sure does smile a lot. 

She’s looking at me now, she must be expecting a reply. I haven’t had this long of a conversation with a stranger in a while, even less so introduce myself. My social reserves are just about running on nothing but fumes. I decide that I want to leave, now.

“I should go, do something about the plants and all.” I give as a flimsy excuse. Why am I even bothering with an excuse? I’m never going to see her again.

Twig’s face falls for a noticeable second, then shapes itself into her smile again, though not as bright this time. Is she always this transparent with how she feels? 

“Good idea! I wouldn’t be surprised if some kids in our class did the same thing I did.” Twig jokes, but I can tell she’s actually worried about it. “I’ll leave you to it - oh WAIT!” 

She fumbles with one of her cargo pockets, “I should get your number so we can keep in contact. I’m not really into social media cause I heard the government uses it to spy on you to copy your personality for the bots they use to spread propaganda, but you can text me, tell me what happens with the plants ‘til I get this arm treated.” Twig rambles as she awkwardly digs with her uninjured arm.” She seems to have to pick through a couple of things before brandishing a pen. “Do you have anything to write on?” 

I silently offer her my inner tricep. This has never happened before, what am I agreeing to?

Twig seems pleased with her writing surface, she comes into my personal space to get a better vantage point as if she’s done this a bazillion times. I’m hyper aware of each time her shoulder inadvertently presses into me as she digs the pen into my flesh. I subconsciously keep my arm stiff so she has pressure to write. The numbers she writes are black, crooked and shaky.

I don’t feel like I’m quite here, but I wonder idly why I’m letting this person get this close to me. I ignore the answer I come up with. 

“Sorry I’m not a leftie, this is good practice though, I might have to get used to this for a while. My arm feels really numb now, should I be worried?” Twig rambles, seemingly to herself, as she concentrates on writing. 

“Ok done, mwah!” She finishes with a loopy little smiley face next to the string of numbers. At that, she promptly leaves my side, her change in attitude is jarring.

“I’m gonna head out, I’ll be seeing you!”  
She doesn’t wait for my reply, and nearly rushes away towards the cemetery entrance. 

I stay in place and watch Twig’s figure as she follows the path back to the open gates, for the first time I allow my eyes to travel and linger from the top of her head, her hips and thighs, and the bounce in each step her sneakered feet seem to have. I ignore the sunlight burning my eyes. 

Will she be seeing me? Or is that just something she says? Will I figure that out eventually? 

I turn my heel and thoughts in the opposite direction, back towards the graves and classmates and to where I last saved my game and what the hell Dib is getting into. I press my bloodied hand harder into the thorns to distract from the lingering press of Twigs pen into my skin, but the numbers she etched still feel fresh on my skin and mind, like a hot-iron brand.


End file.
